


Post-Traumatic Stress Desire

by Djinn



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8234876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djinn/pseuds/Djinn
Summary: Sometimes we go to dark places. Sometimes only the people who've already been to those dark places can help us out.  And then what happens can surprise you.





	1. Chapter 1

The bar was dark and far too warm—the kind of place a person could escape to when she didn't want to face the real world. The bartenders poured liberally—and it wasn't synthehol they were splashing into glasses—and the pounding music in the main room could drown out even the most insistent inner voices. For those who wanted to lose themselves, the dance floor promised oblivion. And the dance floor was where Rand and Sulu found Chapel. They tried to get her to stop dancing and to leave the bar with no success. Sulu tried to reason with her, which would have worked better if Christine had been listening to him instead of to the staccato, electronic beats pouring out of the sound system that gave him an instant migraine and put his teeth on edge. 

Rand finally pulled him away, knowing how stubborn her friend could be when she was determined to obsess—not that she didn't have reason. Rand had been there, had stood next to Christine as she'd given the order both of them had prayed they'd never have to give. She understood Christine's pain, even if she couldn't make it any better. She'd thought it would be a blessing having the _Enterprise_ back for refits, thought that Christine's old friends might be able to touch her, might be able to pull her back from the edge when it became clear that Rand wasn't making any impression on her. 

But Chapel didn't care which of them talked to her, she just kept dancing and drinking. Later, she gave up dancing and just concentrated on the biggest drunk she could achieve. All she wanted was oblivion; if her friends didn't want to join her on the journey to Lethe, they could damn well leave her alone.

McCoy was the most resistant to that idea; he actually tried to drag her from the bar, which had earned him a laugh from Chapel—she was a good deal stronger than he was and always had been—and a stern warning from a bouncer who outweighed him by a factor of three. He left her alone then, but he called out the big gun: Spock—her old flame and maybe the one person Christine might care about disappointing. Chapel's current boss upped the ante as well, ordering his old friend Kirk to go find his missing chief of emergency ops. Cartwright had commed her several times, and Chapel had heard his hails but ignored them, finally turning her communicator off since it was disturbing her bar mates. 

Naturally, Kirk and Spock teamed up and had walked in a few moments ago, searching the bar for one errant officer determined to drown her sorrows. The regulars weren't sure what to make of so much red and black wool traipsing through their watering hole. Some of them were beginning to wonder if the neighborhood was taking an upswing and they'd need to find new digs. From where she was sitting at the darkened rear bar, Chapel wasn't happy to see more red and black either. She could imagine McCoy calling in Spock to play on her emotions, but why Kirk? He'd never been her friend, even if she'd been happy serving under him for years. 

It might have been amusing, watching Kirk and Spock navigate the bar—Spock looking massively uncomfortable, Kirk at ease but his face set in determination. She should feel flattered that the legendary duo was here for her. She threw back her drink, signaling the bartender for another. Flattered was a long way from what she felt. Settling back into the shadows, she watched them search for her.

Kirk looked around the bar, trying to find some sign that Chapel was even in the joint. "You're sure this is the place?"

"Yes, this is where Doctor McCoy said she was." The music pounded into Spock's head, and the smell of perfume and incense flowing from holders all over the bar made him slightly dizzy. "She will have taken a seat from which she can see us but where we cannot see her."

Kirk shot him a look. "You know this how?" It's what he would have done in the same situation—what he had done in the same situation—but he didn't expect Chapel to act like him.

Spock shrugged. "She is an intelligent woman. It would be the logical thing to do if she has grown tired of interference."

Kirk shot him a tight grin. "You're no doubt right." They looked in opposite directions, peering into shadows until he saw a dark head suddenly whip out of sight. "There."

"She will not be happy to see us, Jim."

"Speak for yourself, my friend." Kirk took a deep breath and marched up the stairs, although he knew Spock was right. Chris would not welcome any impediment to her finding oblivion. 

Watching them coming toward her, Chapel briefly considered running the other way, but it would take too much effort to get off her stool. Besides, she'd had quite a lot to drink, and she wasn't sure she could stand, much less run. She touched the antitox pills in the pocket of her shirt—not ready to use them, but glad they were there. Although, she wasn't sure she was feeling this unsteady solely because of the drinks. The doctor in her—the doctor she'd left behind to take the ops job—told her that she had a fever. It gave her a certain ironic satisfaction to mutter, "Physician, heal thyself." She lifted her drink—the only healing she needed right now. 

"Commander Chapel," Kirk said as he sidled up next to her. "You're not an easy woman to find."

She wasn't easy—period. The man next to her, who was glaring at Kirk, had found that out when he'd tried to convince her to go home with him.

"Get lost," Kirk said softly to him. "We need to talk to our friend."

The man looked at her, then over at Spock, then back at Kirk. He saw something in one or all of their faces that convinced him to take off. Kirk pulled his stool closer as Spock moved to stand on her other side.

"Not that this isn't a dream come true, gentlemen, but just say what you came to say and then go away." She leaned up against Spock, rubbing his arm. "Unless you came to get drunk too, and then I won't mind if you keep me company."

Spock moved away so abruptly that she almost fell off her stool. She laughed, the sound bitter and ugly. Of course, he'd hated her touching him. It was why she had done it. Now, what would Kirk hate?

Kirk watched her as she pushed against Spock, saw his friend pull back, and sighed. This was going to be a long night. "Barkeep," he said to the man on duty behind the bar. "Three scotches."

"I don't like scotch," Chapel said, her voice sullen and sultry all at once—Kirk found it an intriguing combination.

"And I do not drink," Spock added, wondering if Jim had taken momentary leave of his senses.

"They're for me." Jim threw Chapel an appraising look. "I need to catch up with you."

"You'll never catch up with me," she said, reaching out, her hand touching his cheek softly, in a way she thought he'd object to.

Kirk closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the touch instead of pulling away the way Spock had. It would be the last thing she expected. 

And it felt damned good.

He was right; she yanked her hand away as if he'd burned her.

Spock's eyebrow went up. Was Jim planning on seducing her? Or letting her seduce him? And would he be required to participate in some way? The man next to him moved away, and Spock took his stool, watching as Doctor Chapel appeared to regroup. "Why are you here?" he asked her.

"I like it here. Why the hell are you here, Spock?" 

"Because McCoy and I made him come." Jim grinned at her, one scotch empty. His smile was the dangerous one Spock had seen so many times—Doctor Chapel had better tread carefully.

"Why?" She tried to move away from Jim, but he put his arm around her shoulders, holding her in place.

"No, you don't." Kirk leaned forward and could feel the heat rising off her as she got angrier. "Why don't you tell us the real reason you're in here killing off brain cells at what I'd consider an alarming rate? Wouldn't you, Spock?" He grinned at his friend, the dry, tight, grin that had meant so many things in so many situations. "Now." Or "You take the guy on the left." Or "Watch this." 

Spock seemed to sigh, as if not quite sure what the grin meant in this particular situation. Or even if it was appropriate.

Chapel on the other hand, leaned against Kirk, her hand going down and down and grabbing him. "How hard should I squeeze?" she said, her voice as dangerous as he'd ever heard it. 

Her hand was even more dangerous, and he froze. Then he slowly pulled his arm off her shoulder. When she let go of him, he let himself breathe again.

Trying not to shake, Chapel reached for her drink. Why couldn't they just leave her alone? She glared at Spock when he pushed her drink out of reach.

"You have had enough, I believe," he said, his hand coming to rest on hers. He could read her misery through the light touch, and her skin felt hot, almost Vulcan hot. Was she ill?

"I'll be the judge of that." She blinked, and he thought he saw tears, then she jerked her hand out from under his. "Not that I should be the judge of anything."

"Chris," Jim leaned in, his voice caressing her name in a way that surprised Spock, and seemed to surprise her, too. "We all make bad decisions. It's not a failure of judgment, just a questionable call." 

"Questionable? Forty people are dead because of me. I doubt their families are calling that questionable."

"It is a part of being in command," Spock said softly. "We have all had to deal with being responsible for the death of a member of our crew. It is not pleasant. But it is a fact of command."

"Nice speech, Spock. Is that what you told your cadets?" 

"Yes," Spock said. "And you know it is true."

Kirk nodded, his friend was right, and his tack was sound—reason might be the way to go. Brute force surely wasn't going to get it done. His balls were still tingling from her fingers pressing into them.

"Chris," he tried again, using the name that so few on the ship ever called her. 

She turned to him, misery clear in her eyes. "Forty people, Captain." A tear ran down her cheek, then another.

"Jim. My name is Jim." He smoothed the tears away, rubbing her cheeks again even though no more tears came down—her skin was soft and so damn hot. How much had she had to drink? And when was the last time she'd eaten? He let his hand stray up to her forehead—she felt like she had a fever.

His eyes locked with hers, and he saw something in her expression that looked like surrender. "It hurts, Chris. I know that. And you feel guilty and miserable, like you deserve to die. I've been there. But you have to go on. You'll do better next time, and in the meantime, you'll make sure that none of those deaths was in vain." He looked at the scotches still lined up in front of him. "Drowning the loss in booze? That's a waste." Not that it had stopped him when he'd been in her situation.

"I know." Her voice was very small. She tried to say more, but felt her mouth close up. "Captain—"

"Jim." He pulled her close. His arms were warm and strong—they felt like forgiveness.

She relaxed against him and quit trying not to cry.

"Shh, it's all right." He held her, letting her weep against him, her body shaking as great sobs claimed her.

Spock wondered if he was necessary to whatever was going on between his friend and Doctor Chapel. She was leaning into Jim and was crying, which Spock thought was a good sign. He met Jim's eyes over Doctor Chapel's heaving back and let an eyebrow rise. His old sign for "Can I go now?"

Jim nodded, then seemed to pull Doctor Chapel in closer. 

Spock suddenly wondered if it was a good idea to leave them alone. On the other hand, Jim was lonely, and the doctor was no longer serving under his friend. Perhaps it would help them both. He let his hand rest on Doctor Chapel's back, felt her pain rising up and eased his hand away. 

Kirk watched him go, surprised that Spock had touched her. He'd often wondered if his friend regretted not taking what Chris had offered him so many times over the years. But Spock had always walked away, and had never seemed overly concerned at his loss.

"Cartwright sent you?" Chapel asked, knowing that her C.O. had probably ordered them to his hospital bed. She wondered that he cared—he'd almost been victim forty-one.

"Or McCoy. I forget." Kirk smiled. Bones had told them where to find her, but it had been an almost-frantic Cartwright who'd called Kirk and told him what had happened, that she'd made the only decision she could have made. It hadn't even been a bad or questionable call—and Kirk planned to go over that when she stopped crying and was ready to hear it. But bad call or not, forty men and women were dead now because of her decision.

That was never easy. His first time he'd ended up in a bar too, on the rough side of town. Alone. The blackest night of his soul...and he'd been alone.

He didn't want that for her.

"Jim," she said softly, having trouble using his name after so long calling him "captain" or "sir." She tried to pull away, felt him let go of her. "I'm sorry."

He looked down at his groin, winced a little. "For that, you mean?"

She nodded. "Should I kiss them and make it better?" She hadn't really just said that, had she? "I'm drunk, sir."

"I'm not." He touched the front of her shirt, his fingers dropping dangerously low before rising again and digging into her pocket. "Here, take these." He dropped the antitox into her hand.

"I like the fuzziness."

"I don't." He took back the packet, tore it open, and held it out to her. "Open up, Chris." He waited for her to do it, finally had to glare at her. When she opened her mouth, he dropped the pills in—they would dissolve on her tongue in seconds. 

As her head cleared, the music in the club suddenly seemed too loud. She closed her eyes, saying goodbye to the stupor that had put a lid on her pain. 

"It doesn't help, not really. It just masks the pain." Kirk seemed to be reading her mind as he popped an antitox into his mouth.

She realized Spock was being awfully quiet and turned to look at him; he was gone.

"He left."

"Why? This too much for him?"

Her voice was bitter, and he sighed. He wished he could make that better for her too. "I don't know. He probably just thought he wasn't needed."

"He's not. This is all I need." She reached for her drink, and he slammed her hand down on the bar harder than he meant to. The look she shot him was blazing hot, as if her pain was being turned into raw anger as she sobered up. "Let go."

"No." 

Her other hand shot out, low and about to grab him again, but this time he was ready. He caught her, stopping her before she reached his groin. "Fool me once..."

She struggled but could not get away. She'd never realized how strong he was, had been too busy dreaming of Vulcan strength. "I hate you," she said but wasn't sure who she was talking to—him or Spock, or maybe herself.

"Fine, hate me. But no drinks. And no gouging." His grin was tight as if he was a little worried what might happen once he let go of her.

And she did want him to let go of her, was afraid that if he didn't, she'd start crying again and this time she wouldn't be able to stop. But his hands on hers were tight, and his eyes wary—he wasn't letting go of her any time soon. She did the only thing she could think to make him release her. She leaned in and kissed him hard, passionately. She gave him something he'd never ever wanted: herself, her lips, and her body as she slid off the stool and pressed against him.

Kirk let go of her hands and pulled her closer, overwhelmed by the sensation of her pushing against him. Her lips were hot and full, and they pressed on his relentlessly until he opened his mouth and let her in, and that was probably a mistake because suddenly he couldn't think at all. 

She felt his mouth open, pushed her tongue against his and heard him moan. His hands were running up and down her back, causing her to shiver. He finally pulled away, and his eyes were startled as he stared at her. Then he stroked her cheek, his mouth finding hers again, and this time the kiss was sweet and tender and it broke her into a hundred million pieces.

He felt her control shatter, held her close as she shuddered against him, pushing her away just enough so that he could get down and get her out of the godawful bar they were sitting in and somewhere, anywhere else.

She knew he was leading her out of the bar, could tell they were outside when the music stopped and the night air hit her—cold and harsh. She'd forgotten her coat, hadn't cared enough to even think of it. Now she wished she had. 

Cold, she was so cold.

He felt her shivering and took off his jacket, easing it around her shoulders. "I think you're sick." He took her hand, held it up to her forehead.

Free of the stuffy, too-hot bar, she could tell that she was burning up. "I think you're right," she said, trying to pull away from him.

He held her, then slowly let go. "Only if you want to...don't pull back on my account."

She studied him, unsure what she was seeing. Did he want her? Because she suddenly wanted him. 

He saw her eyes soften, saw desire in them and gently pulled her back to him. "Kiss me," he said, as he led her up the hill toward his apartment in the visiting officers' quarters.

She obeyed his order. It was easy to do, like old times. Only he'd never ordered her to kiss him before, which was probably a good thing because now that she was doing it, she didn't want to stop. They stumbled up the hill, toward his place, she guessed. Was he going to seduce her? 

She found the prospect didn't bother her at all. In fact, she wanted it. Pulling him into a darkened doorway, she pushed him against the wall, kissing him as if there would never be another chance for them. He kissed her back, his tongue and hands and lips and body all so warm against her and quickly becoming her whole world. A world where things made sense and people didn't have to die because she'd done what she'd had to.

"I didn't have a choice," she said brokenly as she pulled away. "I didn't have a choice."

He nodded. "I know. I know." He kissed her, letting his words add emphasis to the kiss, letting his lips add power to the words. "You had no choice, Chris."

"I didn't want them to die."

"I know." He turned her, supporting her as they walked the rest of the way to his place. The apartment was warm and welcoming, and he eased her down onto the couch. He planned to make her something hot—tea or maybe cocoa—but she pulled him toward her. 

"Warm me."

Her arms as they stroked him were alluring, enticing. He wanted her, wanted this. He pulled away. "You're burning up."

"I'm so cold. Please, Jim." She stared up at him, shivering and lonely and afraid that what was happening would stop if she let him get away from her. She tried to put everything she needed and wanted from him in her eyes so he'd see it and come back to her and love her if only for a little while and make her forget—and so that he'd be there to hold her and tell her it was all right when she remembered all over again.

"Not here, then." He pulled her off the couch and led her to the bedroom. "Let's do this right, Commander."

Her title on his lips made her remember, his hands on her clothes, gently easing them off, then stroking her skin, made her forget.

"It's all right. You had no choice," he said, making her remember again.

"Don't. No reminders. I want to forget."

"You can't run away." He pushed her to the bed, following her down. "I'll hold you. I'll make you warm. But I won't be oblivion." He stared down at her naked body and let his hand trace the wonderfully full breasts he'd never once fantasized about. Why in hell hadn't he imagined making love with her?

She arched underneath his touch. "I keep seeing them."

"They'll haunt you for a while. It's the way it is." God knew he'd had enough ghosts in his life, his quarters, even in his bed. You had to learn to live with them.

She nodded and knew he was right. He was wise and had been there. She'd seen him enough times in this situation, had been with him in sickbay when he'd watched another crewmember die. 

And now she was with him in a way she'd never imagined. She'd been so busy dreaming about Spock that she'd never noticed how kind her captain's eyes were or how sensuous his lips. There was no way she could have imagined how his mouth would feel against hers, or how his fingers and lips and tongue would make her arch and writhe and finally cry out, unsure if the words she said made sense.

He smiled as she came down. She'd called his name. He didn't think she even knew she'd done it—he'd been afraid that he'd hear Spock's name on her lips as she came. 

He let his hand rest on her stomach, where the pink flush that also covered her breasts was receding. Her skin was so hot. Crawling up the bed, he lay down beside her. "You're sick, Chris. Maybe we should wait."

Her hand found him, so full and strong and wanting her. This man, who had just sent her to a place where oblivion held sway if only for a moment, wanted her. She moved her fingers and squeezed—not the way she had earlier and not in the same place and she saw his eyes close and his mouth open in pleasure. 

"Chris," he said, the word barely more than a breath. 

"Yes?" She moved closer, feeling a strange power as he groaned when she pulled him onto her. "Now. No waiting." 

And then he was with her and filling her and moving over her, and she thought that the word pleasure must have been invented just to describe what this man could do with his body. She wrapped her legs around him, trying to pull him into her even more.

Kirk groaned and felt her lock her legs around him and knew he could not control himself much longer. She was slick and hot and the fever only made it more intense. And she wanted him—her eyes as she looked up at him were dilated, and her lips were wild as they found his. But her hands running through his hair were softer somehow, soothing and loving, and she called his name out again as she came. When he followed her, he was smiling because of that and because he was calling her name out too, and because it just felt so damned good to be with her.

He collapsed on top of her, trying to keep most of his weight off. Her eyes were bleary from sex and exhaustion and probably from being sick, so he eased off of her, cuddling next to her, holding her. 

She rolled so she was facing him, their bodies pressed tightly together. He noticed she was sweating, and gently rubbed her forehead. 

"Are you all right?" he asked, and his voice was so tender it made her eyes well up as she nodded.

He kissed her tears away, his lips so gentle on her it only made her cry more. "I'm sorry, Chris. I'm sorry it happened to you."

She nodded, holding onto him tightly. Letting him guide her through this terrible pain. His body, so demanding and sensuous a moment ago, was now comforting and sturdy. She could fall, and he would catch her. 

"Sleep now," he said, as she stopped shuddering, her fever-stoked skin pressing against him in ways that made him want to take care of her forever. "Sleep. It will be just as bad in the morning."

She looked up at him, smiling at how he wasn't going to lie to her even now. It was what she needed, and he seemed to know that. Or maybe it had just been what he needed, so long ago. "When you went through this, who talked you down?"

His eyes seemed to darken, and he didn't look at her as he whispered, "No one."

And she suddenly understood why he'd come into that bar in the first place. She could feel tears in her eyes again, but this time they weren't for herself. And this time they didn't burn as they fell. "I'm sorry."

He shrugged. 

She thought his pain was like an old wound covered in scar tissue but still aching at times. Impossible to heal, and not a bother most of the time, but every now and then, like now, it must twinge a little. 

"You're wrong, you know," she said softly.

"Oh?" he asked, his lips finding hers. He could get used to kissing her. Could get used to doing a lot of things with her.

"It won't be as bad in the morning."

"No?" He was looking at her with such longing that she wondered if he had any idea that he was doing it. This man was lonely, and that floored her. This man wanted her, and she wanted him, and it was possible that together they might be very, very good. And that floored her too.

It was the last thing she would have expected. "No. It won't be as bad."

"Why not?" he asked. 

"Because you'll be there." 

It didn't come out as a question, but he could hear the question in it. She was asking him if he wanted her there, if he wanted her to come back. If he'd want this again, this fire and touching and kissing. He wasn't sure how or why he was reading all that into her tender if tentative gaze, but he knew he was right.

She watched his face—there seemed to be a lot of things running across his expression: wonder, and worry, and an aching loneliness. Then there was only utter tenderness as he leaned down and kissed her. It was a long and lovely kiss. It said so much that she needed to hear. Somehow, in a way she didn't understand, they were in this together. 

"I like that," he said, smiling. And for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel alone at all.


	2. Chapter 2

The apartment was quiet, set at the end of the hall, in a building full of visiting officers. The hallways had a transient air, and the maids and concierge had seen everything imaginable: torrid affairs, terrible break ups, heart-wrenching grief for officers back to bury a parent or friend. Sometimes it seemed that the very fibers of the carpets and furnishings had soaked up all the drama and passion and loneliness of the officers who had slept in these borrowed rooms.

Kirk had spent the first few days of his leave wishing he'd stayed somewhere else. But now he hurried back to the building, his meetings at Starfleet Command over, his arms full of groceries that he thought would help Chris get better faster. It was an odd feeling to have someone waiting for him, even odder to feel this protective of someone after just one night—someone he'd known half his life but never looked at twice as a prospective partner. 

As he hurried past the concierge, the young woman working the front desk watched him wistfully. She wished she could make Captain Kirk as happy as he'd looked with the tall brunette he'd brought in with him the day before. She wished—she shook herself; it didn't matter what she wished. Maybe she should take that nice Doctor McCoy up on his offer of dinner?

As Kirk rode the elevator up, his anticipation growing as he got closer to his floor, Chapel was opening her eyes in his apartment. She was disoriented for a moment, wondering why her walls were white and the door was on the wrong side of the room until she remembered where she was and why, and smiled. If anyone had told her she would end up in Jim Kirk's bed, she'd have laughed them out of the room. She wasn't his type, he wasn't hers either. But if that was so, why was she grinning at just the sound of the front door opening? Why was she suddenly worried that she looked as shitty as she felt? Why was her heart beating terribly fast as he came into the room, his grin turned way up to "melt her heart" levels.

"Hi," she said, a smile lighting her face in a way that made his own heart beat faster. This woman...why in god's name hadn't he noticed her sooner?

"Hi," he said, sitting down on the bed, his hand going to her forehead. "Your fever's up."

"You can't tell that just from a touch," she said with a smile. But he was right; she was getting sicker not getting better. 

"I can see it in your eyes," he said, and there was no grin this time. He looked worried for her, and she was touched. 

"Come here," she said, pulling him down. His lips were so incredibly soft when he was being tender, his hair so silky as she ran her hands through it. When he pulled away from her, she said, "You're right though. I am sicker." And probably shouldn't be kissing him, potentially giving whatever she had to him.

He smiled at her as he pulled out a communicator. "Let's see if we can't do something about that?" He touched her cheek with his hand as he said, "Kirk to McCoy."

There was a long silence, and he leaned down, kissing her again, letting himself enjoy the feeling of having her in his bed—naked in his bed if he remembered correctly. He peeked under the sheet, waggling his eyebrows at her as he confirmed that yes, she was indeed naked under there. She giggled—a giddy, wonderful sound.

"McCoy here, dammit." 

Kirk realized that he must have missed McCoy's first reply. "Bones, your bedside manner leaves something to be desired."

"Maybe that's because I'm not beside a bed. I'm at the pool. Relaxing."

"Well, get your sorry ass down here. I have a patient for you to check out."

"Unless it's Christine, I'm not interested." McCoy's tone made Chapel wince. She'd have a bunch of apologizing to do to her former boss and friend. He'd only been trying to help her in the bar, and she'd been a little nasty.

"It is Chris. And she's sick. But thankfully at my place not at the bar." He winked at her, saw her smile, and was glad that her spirits were up, even if her health had taken a downward turn.

"I'll be there in a minute. I just have to get my bag."

"We'll see you when you get here."

Chapel grinned, loving the way he said "we." He smiled back at her, and she thought he understood exactly what she was thinking. 

He pulled down the sheets for a moment, running his hands over her skin.

Giggling again—how many years had it been since she giggled?—she said, "Is this your idea of an examination?"

"Why, yes, it is." He let his hand rest on her breast, his eyes darkening a bit. Lust, one hundred percent pure lust, shone in his eyes. 

She wanted to pull him onto her and into her and never let him go. Instead, she looked down, embarrassed that she'd been sleeping all day, that she hadn't bathed. "I feel grungy. I was going to take a shower, but I got dizzy when I stood up."

His smile was a mix of helpfulness and utter lechery. "I can take a shower with you later. Make sure you don't fall."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Hell, no. I'd do that for me." He laughed, the sound boyish and happy, making her grin. "I'm very selfish. You're sick, and all I can think about is how to get close to you."

"It's okay. I like it. I mean I look like crap, and you still want me. That's sort of amazing." She pulled him down again, kissing him, trying to get her fill of him before McCoy showed up.

He let his hands roam all over her, learning her body by heart, so that he could take the memory back to the ship with him, have her with him in some way when this leave was over. 

She pulled away slightly, studying him, her eyes narrowing. "What's wrong?"

"I'm going to miss you," he said, feeling silly for saying it after one night. They'd been familiar strangers before last night—been strangers that way for years. Why did this feel so right so quickly?

"I'm going to miss you too," she said, taking his hand and squeezing it gently. Then, her expression turned devilish, and she began to kiss his palm, biting softly on the pads—he'd never realized there was a direct line from them to his groin. The door chime interrupted her just as she took his finger into her mouth.

"Hold that thought," he said with a laugh, as he extricated his finger from between her lips. 

Too bad—she had a feeling she could have made him moan if she'd just had a few more seconds. She pulled the covers back up; her smile slightly wicked as she pushed her hair back. Shouldn't she have gotten dressed for this? What would Len think? On the other hand, she was lying in Jim's bed, an obviously shared bed. Even in a nightshirt or Jim's pajamas, what else could Len think?

Jim leaned down, pulling the covers up a bit more. He looked...possessive. And she found herself responding to that. 

"And for the record you don't look crappy," he said, wondering if he shouldn't get her a t-shirt or something. Not that Bones hadn't seen them all nude at some point, but still...

"No?"

"No. You look sexy as hell." She did too, with her hair all messed around her and her lips slightly swollen from kissing him. Her eyes were a dark blue in the afternoon light, and they softened as she looked at him.

"Not as sexy as you." She let her eyes travel down his body, stopping at hip level.

"Cut that out." He shook his head, already feeling the impact of her slow once-over. She had the most amazing effect on him—especially on certain parts of him.

She forced her eyes up, surprised at how he responded to her—and how she could feel herself responding to him. Way to go, Chapel. Get yourself all hot and bothered before a medical exam. Yeah, that's smart.

The chime rang again. 

"He probably thinks I'm dying in here. Go let him in."

Laughing, Kirk hurried out and let Bones in.

"You can't hear your chime?"

"I can hear it. I was...occupied."

McCoy took one look at Jim's grin and rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you seduced her out of that bar?"

"Well, I'm not sure I was the one doing the seducing."

"But seducing was done?" And by the look on Jim's face it had been pretty damn good sex. McCoy had always sort of wondered what it would be like with Christine.

"It was mutually consensual seduction." Jim's grin faded, and he looked worried. "But she's sick, Bones. Sicker than she's letting on to me, I think."

McCoy nodded. That would be like Christine to hide how bad she really felt. "I'll check her out. And you if she's contagious. You should have called me last night."

"She wasn't this sick last night." Kirk nodded, turning to the kitchen. "I'm going to warm up some soup."

"You brought her soup?" McCoy watched as his friend peeled open a container of chicken noodle soup from one of San Francisco's upscale specialty stores. My God, how serious were these two after one night? In all his years, he wasn't sure he'd ever seen Jim being so domestic. 

"Don't look so worried, Bones. She sent me out for this herself." Kirk laughed, seeing the disbelief in his friend's face. Was it so out of character for him to take care of someone? He took a quick trip through memory lane and realized he usually didn't combine sex with this kind of homey comfort. When had he stopped looking for the whole package? Was it after Janice? After Carol? 

McCoy watched him for a few moments, then went into the bedroom. Staring down at Christine, he realized she was probably stark naked under the rumpled sheets. "There a t-shirt shortage in this town?" he grumbled and was surprised to hear her giggle.

She never giggled.

"All right, young lady. Let's see what's wrong with you."

She smiled. Even though she felt like crap warmed over, she did feel young again—great sex and waking up with someone who actually knew how to be tender were fantastic ways to feel rejuvenated. Even with a fever of a hundred and three—or so she was guessing based on how crappy she was feeling.

He was scanning her, the sound of the instrument bringing a wave of nostalgia. She missed being a doctor. Some days more than others. This was one of those days. Only she knew there were forty reasons for that. Forty dead reasons. "One hundred and four fever."

She'd been close. "I know. Glands swollen, blood pressure elevated, pulse a bit rapid."

He smiled. "That's a common reaction to being in Jim's bed, I'm told."

She laughed, that strange, light giggle that unnerved him a little even as it charmed him. He continued to scan her. "It's not viral so you didn't give it to him." He got out his hypospray, filling it with antibiotics and some painkillers. "You have bacterial meningitis. How the hell you picked that up is beyond me." He watched her face; she didn't seem surprised. "Something you want to tell me?"

"Some of the Perillians were suffering from it. We were all working so closely during the fighting."

He nodded, had figured it was something like that. He shot her full of drugs. "Well, this should do the trick. You might want to go easy on the extracurricular activities until it takes effect."

She smiled. "Len, the drugs will take effect in a few hours."

"I know. Which is probably just about how long you two will last. I can diagnose raging lust as easily as a raging fever."

He sounded happy for them, but concerned too, and she understood that—they were both his friends, if this went badly...

He shot her a glance, his eyes twinkling. "The man is out there making soup for you, you know."

"He's not making it. He's warming it up." 

"Same diff."

"Nuh-uh." She smiled, remembering the breakfast Jim had made for her. Scrambled eggs had never tasted so good. He'd said it was the dill; she thought it was the cook.

McCoy watched her expression grow soft, and smiled. It was high time she found some happiness. Jim was the last guy he'd have figured would give that to her, but if it worked for them, who was he to get in the way? He patted her shoulder. "You rest up. I'll tell Cartwright you need some time off to recover."

"How much time?"

McCoy's eyes were twinkling again when he said, "How long is Jim's leave?" Winking at her, he walked out of the room. He talked to Jim for a moment, then she heard the front door open and close.

Jim peeked in. "You hungry?" 

She nodded and he thought she looked like she was more ready for sleep than food. But she sat up, the sheet slipping down, he thought accidentally, until he looked at her expression. 

"Troublemaker," he said.

"Always."

He realized that might be true, and it surprised him. There was a lot he didn't know about her. A lot she didn't know about him. It would be an adventure discovering those things together. Smiling, he went and got the tray he'd fixed up, carrying it in to her. 

"Meningitis, huh?" he asked as he set the tray down.

She nodded, letting the aroma of the soup waft up at her for a few moments before dipping her spoon in. It tasted like heaven. "Thank you."

"All I did was warm it up." His eyes were so soft that she reached out for him, wanting to feel his hand on hers, his skin soft against her own.

"No, you warmed me up," she said. "There's a difference."

"It was my pleasure." His grin faded. He'd known how close to the edge she'd been. Had stood staring down into that same abyss years before. It had been one of the loneliest times of his life. "And my duty."

She nodded. She understood. He was more than just a friend, or a lover. He was a fellow officer. He'd come to her out of duty, out of responsibility. She looked up at him. "Duty didn't make me soup. Duty didn't make love to me."

He was trying to bite back a grin. "No, that was definitely not duty in bed with you."

She laughed. "Will you get back in bed with me?"

"Once you finish your soup, I will." He gave her a very stern look. "And then you will sleep."

"No sex?"

"No." He almost laughed at her expression. "Well, perhaps if you're good and sleep a few hours."

She smiled. A few hours was all she'd promised Len. "I'll be good." 

He leaned down, kissing her, his lips no longer so soft. She knew that no matter how good she was, he'd be better. The thought made her shiver, in a deliciously sexy way.

"Now, eat." He ran his hands down her back. Comforting, arousing, giving her more than she ever would have expected.

Kirk watched her face as he touched her. She was so damned open to him right now, didn't appear to be trying to hide anything, and he found that exhilarating. "Spock is going to be mighty sorry he left."

She shot him a look, thinking back to Spock's almost panicked face in the bar. "No, Jim. He won't."

"Okay, he probably won't. But he should be." He grinned, making light but not making fun. 

And she was fine with it. She thought it might be nice getting to know Spock from this side of Jim's life. Maybe she'd get to know the real man, not the dream-Vulcan she'd had a crush on for so long. Or maybe not. She found it mattered surprisingly little.

As long as she had Jim, anything else was just extra fun. She looked up at him, surprised again at how life went, and he smiled down at her. 

"It's scary," she said.

"Yes, it is." He didn't have to ask her what was scary. They were scary. This, them, sex, caring, maybe love someday. This was terrifying. But in a soft, quiet, very comfortable way. He might be scared, but he wasn't going anywhere. He was pretty sure she wasn't going anywhere either as she stared back at him with her gentle smile.

"Do you like walking on the beach?" he asked her, knowing she'd have no idea what he was really talking about.

"I do." She looked up at him. "I don't get much opportunity to do it, though. Or I don't make the opportunity."

"Then let's go. Once you're well."

She smiled tenderly at him, and he had the feeling if he'd asked her to go to hell with him, she'd have said yes.

"Can we have sex before then?" she asked.

"Oh, all right." He rolled his eyes as if it was a great hardship she was asking.

She just laughed and went back to her soup. "Go get yourself some lunch, Captain. You'll need to keep your strength up if you're going to sleep with me, and have sex with me, and shower with me, and have sex with me, and walk on a beach with me, and have sex with—"

"I get the picture, Commander. And aye-aye."

She winked at him, and he wanted to take away the tray and have sex with her right then. How long would it take the drugs to work?

"Go eat, Jim."

It was the voice of the nurse he remembered, and the doctor he served with later. And, he supposed, the voice of the commander he barely knew. He was going to enjoy getting to know her.

Especially in the biblical sense.

But first he had to keep his strength up. And up. And up. He laughed, and saw that she was grinning as if she could read his mind. She glanced over at him. Her smile a promise and a gift. One that he was ready to accept, ready to grab onto and not let go.

Their lips touched, pressing on each other hungrily, their tongues meeting—she tasted salty, and rich, like the soup he'd warmed up. He kissed her for a long time before he let her go and went to make himself some lunch. 

 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually enjoy the omniscient POV, usually because it can read like sloppy third-person POV, just a lot of mindless head-hopping. So trying to do it in a way that was organic to the story and didn't call too much attention to itself was a challenge. If you didn't notice the POV while you were reading this, I succeeded.


End file.
